


Third Time Lucky

by ghostie_withthemostie



Series: Crush(ed) [4]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Smoking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostie_withthemostie/pseuds/ghostie_withthemostie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accidental summon results in the ghost with the most appearing in Lydia's bedroom at an inappropriate time...really though, she should know better by now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't own anything and I never, ever will. 
> 
> This does not occur directly after Part 3. Some time has passed. Like..idk, a year. I can't write in a linear way...I don't know. Sorry. This works as a standalone though, so it's not necessary to have read earlier stuff. 
> 
> Lydia's boyfriend is based on a scumbag I used to know who also had problems getting it up. She's better off without him and so am I.

                Lydia’s fingers worked steadily between her legs, keeping her movements slow and controlled so as not to wake her-sigh- sleeping boyfriend. _Well if you want something done right…_ she thought peevishly, right before her fingers found that oh-so-sweet spot, sending a pleasurable jolt all the way down to her toes. Centering her fingers over the spot, Lydia began speeding up the circular movements over her nub, her brows knitting together in intense concentration. She just needed that extra push…

                Summoning up one of her favorite fantasies, Lydia worked her fingers even quicker, her breath coming in short huffs as a gush of wetness made her movements more smooth and slick. She started to feel the pleasure begin to coil between her thighs, a soft moan followed:

“Beetlejuice…”

                She popped up one leg to allow herself a better angle, panting when she achieved it. Her fingers weren’t working as fast as she needed them to, she whined softly in frustration:

“Beeeetlejuice…!”

                Quicker now, just the right pace, Lydia turned her head into the pillow to stifle the moan that had escaped her. So close now, she gasped:

“Beetleju-“

                The rest of the word was a hiss as an exquisite tingling began traveling up her legs, making her tremble, and- _yes!_ -she was almost –

_Poof._

                Wisps of smoke cleared to reveal the ghost himself, tugging on the cuffs of his striped sleeves and staring at her from the foot of the bed, one eyebrow raised.

“You rang?”

                Lydia, heart in her throat, removed her hands from their secret place, flinging the sheets and comforter from her in a blind panic as she fought to sit up. On the other side of the bed, her boyfriend’s snores halted for a moment, making her pause, pulse pounding. When the rumbling returned again, she turned to Beetlejuice, hands thrown up in the universal sign of “What the fuck?!”

                But the ghost with the most wasn’t paying attention, instead keeping his gaze locked on the snoring mass of blankets next to her, his lips in a sneer of disgust. “Is _that_ what I’m here to get rid of, babes?” Beetlejuice began inching closer to her boyfriend’s sleeping form.

“No, no!” Lydia whisper-yelled, waving him back to her side of the bed. “And keep your voice down! You’re not here to get rid of anyone because I. Did. Not. Call you!”

                Beetlejuice’s head snapped to face Lydia with his eyebrows raised. “1,” he began, at a completely unaltered voice level, “don’t tell me to shut up, I was invited.”

“I didn’t-!”

                But Beetlejuice continued over her, “And B: I think I’ve been around long enough to understand how this gig works, babes. I don’t just poof into living people’s bedrooms on my own terms. I can’t. I can’t do it. And _trust me_ when I say that I have tried to remedy that on multiple occasions.” Beetlejuice waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her, his tongue between his teeth.

                “Okaay…” Lydia whispered, still frantically motioning for him to lower his voice. “Well, maybe there was some kind of glitch this time because I- oh.” Lydia was thankful for the darkness that hid the warm creep of a blush on her pale cheeks.

“Oh what?”

                Lydia was silent, wracking her brain for a suitable explanation. “I- it-,” she sputtered.

                “Fucking spit it out, Lyds. I may be dead, but I do have a life.” Beetlejuice pretended to check a nonexistent wristwatch. “Places to be, people to spook and all that noise. So,” he rubbed his hands together, tilting his head once again in the direction of the lump under the covers, a maniacal grin lighting his moldy face. “Should I go ahead and do what I do best and get rid of that waste of space in your bed or…?”

                “No, you dick! That’s my _boyfriend_ ,” she pointed savagely to the heap, “and _this_ -,” here she gestured to the entire bed, “is _our_ bed. So you can fuck right off because I didn’t-“

“Boyfriend? Boyfr-what? Oh no, babes, oh no, you’re _not_ telling me-“

                At this point, Lydia lurched forward, throwing her hand over Beetlejuice’s mouth as his growing outrage was beginning to manifest in an increased volume. Beetlejuice’s eyes widened as she felt his nose work under her hand, his eyes dropping to the obstruction to his mouth and then returning to her own, narrowing in a knowing manner.

                On the other end of the bed, Lydia noted the change in her boyfriend’s breathing, reacting instinctively by frantically pushing Beetlejuice out of the bedroom, which, surprisingly, he did not resist. Once the door was shut behind her- _with_ him on the other side-Lydia turned just in time to catch her boyfriend rolling over, blinking blearily at her in the darkness.

“Whassa matter, sweetie?” he asked thickly.

                Lydia cringed at the pet name. She was a lot of things, sweet usually not being one. “Nothing, nothing. I couldn’t fall asleep so I went into the living room to watch TV and the volume was up really high when I turned it on. Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep, I’ll be in again soon.”

“Mmmf,” was his response as he settled once again within the blankets.

                Sighing in relief, Lydia exited the bedroom, shutting the door with a gentle click. Spinning around, she searched the living room and kitchen area for the resident corpse. Spying a prone figure on her patio table, she opened the sliding glass door to her porch, shutting it behind her harder than she intended. Beetlejuice didn’t even flinch. He remained spread out on her table, blowing smoke rings into the air above him, a lit cigarette in one hand.

                “A real deadbeat you got there. And that’s from someone who has been dead for hundreds of years,” he observed, not bothering to look at her.

                “Shut up. What do you know? You don’t know him.” Lydia leaned with her back against the glass, crossing her arms.

                Beetlejuice turned his head toward her, smirking before taking another drag. “What _do_ I know, hmm…,” he sat up and spun on the edge of the table so his legs were dangling over the edge. “I do know that you called my name three times, in bed, in the dark, next to that limp-dick because, I mean,” he gestured extravagantly to his obvious presence.

                Lydia shook her head emphatically, “No, no- I didn’t mean- It wasn’t supposed-,” she took a deep breath here as Beetlejuice wagged his eyebrows at her, head cocked for an explanation. “It must have been a dream—a nightmare!” She corrected emphatically when she saw his lips curve in a smirk again.

                “Call it what you will, babes,” Beetlejuice grinned, exhaling another cloud of smoke, “I could make it go either way. Point being,” he took another long drag, “he’s in there and, well, here _we_ are.” He spread his arms expansively, his mouth lifted in a knowing smile. Lydia’s embarrassment transformed into all-consuming rage.

                “I don’t know what you _think_ you know, but you’re wrong. _Dead_ wrong,” she curled her lips in a sneer as Beetlejuice shook his head at the too-obvious pun. “If I _did_ call you-which I’m not saying I did!!! It would have been an _accident_.” She got close to him now, pointing a finger at his chest. “So you can just FUCK. RIGHT. OFF. And if you don’t think I mean it, how about this: Beetlej-,“ Beetlejuice’s hand smacked over her mouth mid de-summon. Lydia glared at him.

                Matching her glare, he snatched the hand whose finger she still held pressed against his chest and lifted it to his nose, inhaling. Lydia’s glare morphed into a look of panic and mortification as she understood.

                “Now, a guy, an average joe like myself, who has been around the block, so to say, is pretty qualified to identify the particular scent I am picking up on your hands and-ah ah ah!,” here Lydia attempted to pull out of his grasp, which he  tightened, pulling her closer still. He sniffed again, “Mmm…smells to me like ol’ cock-sag in there isn’t giving you what you need.” Lydia’s face flushed bright red, visible even in the dim light of the half moon. “Now…,” his voice was a gravelly purr, “am I wrong?”

                The blood surged in Lydia’s veins as she felt his hand begin to shift away from her mouth.

                “Yes! Bee-mmf!”

                “Woah, woah, woah there,” Beetlejuice closed his hand more firmly over her mouth, “let’s just check what’s under the hood first, hm?”

                Not waiting for an answer, Beetlejuice spun around, grabbing the back of her neck with his free hand and pushing her forward until her hips were pressed against the edge of the table. Muffled protests were attempted against his hand as he bent her forward, moving to stand behind her. Lydia’s curses turned into squeals as he slid down the hand he had been using to force her forward, pushing past the weak elastic of her pajama shorts. Encountering no resistance beyond this, his fingers reached their destination: the warm, dripping cleft between her thighs. Lydia moaned as he played with the wetness gathered there, smearing it from her entrance up to the node of pleasure she had been working at so fervently before his arrival.

                “Ah, what did I say? The nose knows, babes.” Lydia gasped behind his hand as its brother began a continuation of her earlier ministrations, bringing her already frazzled nerves right back to the edge again. “Now, you could keep on calling my name, which of course I love to hear, especially in the throes of ecstasy, but I think we know what you’ll miss out on if you say it one too many times, right?” In emphasis, he pressed the growing bulge at the front of his black and white trousers against her backside, making her hiss. “We don’t want that, do we?”

                After a small pause, Lydia shook her head in the negative under his hand.

                “Ahh, good. I love it when you’re in the mood to play nice,” he leaned down over her, his breath rank with cigarette smoke, his fingers working ever faster against her center of pleasure. “Then just say it and we can be on our way,” he rasped in her ear.

                “Mmm...Beetlej-,” Lydia was cut off abruptly as his hand closed tighter over her mouth and the rest of him pulled backward sharply. She groaned in frustration.

                “Did we not _just_ have this conversation? My name. Three times. Poof. Gone. Are you high?” The hand between her legs stilled.

                Lydia’s hands balled into fists on the table, frustrated beyond words. Shaking her head free from the hand still silencing her, she screamed, “Just…fuck me, ok???” She slammed her fists down onto the table with a crack.

                Chuckling, Beetlejuice pressed against her again, sliding the shorts down her legs, making Lydia hiss as the chilled night air hit the heated place between her thighs.

                “Fuck me…,” she whispered, feeling his hands working at the fastenings on his pants behind her. When she felt the cool tip of his erection at her entrance, she pressed her face down into the table, twisting her hands in her hair and mewling in anticipation.

                Beetlejuice’s voice was even rougher than usual, if possible, “Third time’s a charm, babes.”

                Lifting her head, she turned her face toward him as much as the awkward angle would allow. Lydia met his eyes, pupils nearly eclipsing the irises, her gaze burning with need. “Fuck. Me.” She enunciated, wiggling backward against him in emphasis.

                Beetlejuice moaned, “Your wish,” Lydia’s joined him as he sunk himself deep inside her, “my command.”

                He began moving at a pace that was hard and brutal, but Lydia found herself to be more than ready for it—had been, in fact, since earlier when she had been lying in bed imagining a scenario eerily similar to the one she found herself in now. Lifting up on her toes to allow a deeper angle, Lydia dropped her head onto her arms, muffling the string of begging profanities she felt come pouring out of her.

                Beetlejuice wrapped a hand in her long black hair, wrenching her head back at a sharp angle. “What was that?” His thrusts became shallow, just missing the spot deep inside her that she knew could bring her the greatest pleasure.  

                Lydia screamed wordlessly.

                “Oh, is that all?” Beetlejuice released the grip on her hair, causing her head to fall forward with a thump on the glass tabletop.

                “Fucker!” Lydia screeched, the pain on her forehead from its impact with the hard surface mixing oddly with the burning pleasure of his thrusts.

                “I thought,” his voice cracked slightly with strain as his own pleasure began to mount, “that’s what I was doing.”

                Rolling her eyes, Lydia groaned as Beetlejuice dug his fingers into the skin on her hips, pulling her back against him with sharp, hard snaps. For a few minutes the only sounds that broke the ambient nighttime noises of distant traffic and insects was their ragged breathing and the wet slap of their bodies meeting. Too soon, though, Lydia began to feel the inner trembling of her impending release. Moaning, she pushed back to meet his thrusts, aching for something _more_.

                One of the hands on her hips moved upward, grabbing onto her shoulder to pull her against him more savagely still. “Goddd, yesss…,” Lydia breathed.

                “Nope, just me,” Beetlejuice huffed without breaking his rapid pace.

                “I’m going to—,“ Lydia whined, a warm tingling beginning to spread through her limbs.

                “Wait,” he commanded, his voice low and rasping.

                “Jesus—fuck!!” Lydia panted in frustration as his thrusting became slower, but no less hard.

                “You’re getting me confused with the wrong people, babes. Only one ghost out there that can make you come as hard as you’re about to, and I’m in no way ‘holy’.” His hands moved to circle her throat, not quite squeezing, but the sensation and thought of it alone caused more warm liquid to seep between her thighs. Lydia could feel the trickle of some escaping, tickling her as is dripped lower. “Now,” his voice was slightly strained as he slowed his pace even more, “beg me for it.”

                Lydia laughed, part frustration and part outrage. “No.” She squeezed her inner walls around him when his length was fully inside her once again, making him groan.

                “Ffffuck…,” he breathed, nearly shaking with the effort of maintaining his leisurely thrusts. The fingers around her throat tightened somewhat, making taking a breath slightly more laborious. “Do it.”

                Lydia shook her head, biting her lip to stifle a moan. Snapping her hips back, she met his next thrust with a force that had him sinking into her to the hilt, causing them both to moan unashamedly. She trembled around him.

                “Come on, Lydia, just…,” she felt his solid length twitch once inside her, “work with me here?” The unaltered use of her name and the faintly detected note of pleading in his rough tone sealed the deal for her. Sensing her breathing picking up in anticipation, his grip on her throat loosened once again.

                “Please,” she rolled her hips against his, making him hiss, “just shut the fuck up and make me come.”

                Chuckling, Beetlejuice resumed his earlier velocity with renewed vigor. Four quick pumps and Lydia’s vision went white, hot pleasure suffusing her entire body. She screamed breathlessly with her release, the clenching of her inner walls around him causing to him groan long and low, following her into his own pleasure.

                For a few blissful moments, they lay in sated silence. This was ended, however, when Beetlejuice’s hand slid to grab a handful of her bottom, “Good girl,” he praised, laughter in his voice.

                The spell broken, Lydia pushed up off the table, forcing his softening organ to slip from her, with it a gush of fluid. Reaching between her legs, Lydia gathered what she could, raising her cupped hand over to the edge of the porch, shaking the evidence of their union into the bushes. Pulling up her shorts, she turned to face him, crossing her arms. He was composed and decent--well, as decent as he ever was—a lit cigarette already moving towards his lips. Lydia snatched it and took a drag, blowing the smoke directly into his face while he stood watching her, one corner of his mouth lifted in a grin of expectation.

                “What?” Lydia wasn’t going to play along. She puffed on the cigarette furiously, holding his gaze.

                “Oh, jeez, well, I don’t know, how’s about a,” he mimed thoughtfulness, scratching his head, “thank you?”

                Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “For what?”

                Beetlejuice snorted, looking up as if baffled, “For the amazing orgasm I delivered?”

                Lydia dropped the burnt-down cigarette to the ground and moved past him toward the sliding-glass door. “The orgasm I could have gotten on my own. Besides,” she threw him a meaningful look, “I’ve had better.”

                Beetlejuice staggered, clutching his chest. “Fuckin’ harsh, Lyds. If I was a lesser dead man, I might say the same about you, but then…I’d be lying.”

                Lydia turned back to him, fighting to hold back her smile as he threw her a wink.

                “How long have you been with the living dead guy in the bed?” Beetlejuice procured himself another cigarette.

                Lydia sighed, “About 8 months.”

                Beetlejuice’s eyebrows shot up. “And you fuckin’ moved in with him?”

                “Shut up. It was either that or go on living on Dad and Delia’s money, which meant on their terms and, you know what…never mind.” Lydia wasn’t in the mood to go down that avenue tonight.

                “Where’d you meet him?” Beetlejuice, for once displaying some tact, didn’t pry.

                “Art school.” At Lydia’s answer, Beetlejuice scoffed. “He’s a painter.”

                Beetlejuice shook his head, flinging the rest of his cigarette into the bushes. “There’s your problem, babes.” He walked over to stand directly in front of her, meeting her eyes. “You’re slumming it with a painter when you should be with an _artist_.” He wagged his eyebrows at her, making her grin grow broader. “Now,” he slid his hands over her shoulders, “take me home. I need to lay down and replenish my bodily fluids if you catch my drift.”

                Rolling her eyes at his crudeness, Lydia sighed, “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice…” Smirking, he leaned forward and snapped his teeth playfully in front of her nose. With a long exhale, she finished, “….Beetlejuice.”

                A puff of smoke and a lingering scent of grave and cigarettes, and she was alone on her porch. Wrapping her arms around herself, she headed back inside, a _tiny_ pang of guilt in her gut, but a much stronger feeling of relief and satisfaction for the first time in what felt like too long.

 

__________________

 

                                                       _“I’ve been in your body, baby, and it was paradise._

_I’ve been in your body and it was a carnival ride._

They want to stop but they can’t stop. They don’t know what

                                                                                                                         they’re doing.”

-Richard Siken, _Crush_ , p.48. “The Dislocated Room”


End file.
